


Let's open up and sing, and ring the bells out

by Ingi



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Book 2 : The Golem's Eye, Character Study, Ding Dong - John Mandrake is Dead, Drawing, Fix-It of Sorts, From Dark to Crack, Gen, Humorous Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light Angst, Nathaniel (Bartimaeus) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Pulling a "Charls the Veretian Cloth Merchant", Recovery, Redemption, Wizard of Oz References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 19:36:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15444315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingi/pseuds/Ingi
Summary: "Just so you know, I don't believe that John Mandrake is dead," Bartimaeus interrupts. A brief pause—verybrief, because the djinni gets horribly bored if he doesn't hear himself speak for more than ten seconds—, and then, "But I do believe that you're doing your very best at beating him to death. Which I approve of in principle, of course. You know me - I'm very pro-beating wizards to death."





	Let's open up and sing, and ring the bells out

**Author's Note:**

> My "re-read your childhood favorite books" project is going well. Meanwhile, my "try _not_ to write fanfic for them" project is... not.
> 
> The tile comes from the song for the Wizard of Oz, "Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead", which tbh felt very relevant to my intentions with this fic as I was writing it.

Nathaniel has her.

He _has her_ , and Bartimaeus is keeping his mouth shut for probably the first time in his very long life, and that idiot of Hyrnek lies to the girl's face— _You can trust him_ , and Nathaniel wants to laugh, somewhat hysterically—, and Nathaniel has Gladstone's Staff in his hands and he feels relief, yes, but a part of him is full of- disappointment? Dread? He remembers looking up at the statue of Gladstone in his old mentor's garden and the thoughts that overcame him every single time, _You are part of something bigger than yourself_ and _You do not have to be powerless_ and _They will admire you and respect you like they do to him, even after death_.

But Nathaniel crutches the Staff in his sweaty hands and there is only grief, and fear, and the sense that something is very, very wrong. He hasn't thought of Mrs. Underwood in at least a year, but he does now, and as he thinks of it, the memory of Ms. Lutyens comes too, and by the end of it there are two women in his mind that, he suddenly realizes, would be so very disappointed in him. And he tries to tell himself that it doesn't matter, that he's not a child, that they wouldn't _know_.

"You made a promise," the girl says.

And there is bile in Nathaniel's throat.

He gets close to Kitty Jones, close enough that he can feel Bartimaeus' questioning eyes on his back—no doubt wondering whether he's lost the plot, and barely refraining from asking out loud—, and he doesn't know what his face is showing, but it mustn't be pretty, because Ms. Jones, who has been proven unshakeable so far, takes a half-step back and her mouth trembles. And it's stupid, and it's dangerous, and _the red spheres are watching_ , so he dearly hopes that he looks like he's delivering a threat into the girl's ear.

What he actually says is,

" _Run_."

Of course, it doesn't matter. He's not even sure the girl has heard, because faster than he can react, she's knocked him in the head with something—his scrying glass, he realizes later—and she's running away with her friend.

Well, there's that.

Bartimaeus, unsurprisingly, is doing nothing. But his eyes are still on Nathaniel, speculative, and Nathaniel has the uncomfortable realization that the djinni probably _did_ hear, and now has Opinions about it. It makes him feel naked, helpless again, like the child he used to be.

When he awakens after his attempt at using the Staff—by the virtue of freezing water being poured all over his face—, and Bartimaeus tells him that the girl saved him, his first thought is he's lying. His second thought is, _She must've heard, after all_ , because why would have she tried to help him at all, otherwise?

His third thought is, _She would have done it anyway_.

And this one is the one that sticks, in the end, because Nathaniel recognized in her a fire that he used to feel himself, even if milder, even if he doesn't quite remember being that person anymore. He knows, now, the truth.

She was braver than he will ever be.

And he feels so incredibly stupid while doing it—is pretty certain Bartimaeus is watching, even while pretending not to - which is a new one for him, admittedly—, but as the golem leaves the courtyard, before they have to follow, Nathaniel crushes a piece of lost clay under his foot, in one of the puddles Bartimaeus' water left, and very carefully, with the tip of his shoe, writes the letters _KJ_ and _JH_ in the wet clay.

 

 

 

Nathaniel gets made Head of Internal Affairs.

The irony isn't lost on him.

He works, because what else is there to do, and he gets Kavka's children out of prision—he _promised_ , and no matter how many favors he has to pull, how uncertain he'd been on his promise at some point, the thought of not doing so now left an unbearably bitter taste in his mouth—, and he tries to ignore Bartimaeus uncharacteristic semi-silence most of all.

It's been more than six weeks, now, but Bartimaeus hasn't asked to be released.

Nathaniel knows he should do so, anyway, but he looks at the Ministry and he sees only snakes, and he doesn't bother to turn his head to look at his back, because he knows that the only people he will find there will have a knife in their hands—or a djinni, or a plot of some kind, or who knows what—.

He is alone.

But Bartimaeus stays, and a week after the golum was destroyed—and _Kitty Jones_ —, he finds Nathaniel in the dining room and sits in front of him, in his Egyptian kid form, arms crossed.

"Well, well- where has John Mandrake gone?"

Nathaniel stares at him and sighs.

" _I'm_ John Mandrake. Are you trying to threaten me with my name again? Because you could've just asked to be released, you know. It's about time, and I don't have need of you anymore."

Bartimaeus snorts, fully aware of the lie that is.

"Oh, _please_. And leave you with a sad bunch of foliots? Not that there's any other kind, mind- well, perhaps a disgusting bunch, or an embarrassing bunch, but I rather thought those were implied-"

"Bartimaeus," Nathaniel interrupts, bone-achingly tired. "Let's get this over with."

But Bartimaeus only stares at him from under dark bangs, and Nathaniel thinks that he's being judged, being measured against something, but he can't begin to imagine what. It's not the kind of judging gaze he's used to, frankly. There's nothing of Mr. Underwood's contemptous apathy there, Ms. Whitwell's cold disdain. Nathaniel is horrified to discover that it reminds him more of Mrs. Underwood or Ms. Lutyens, always silently asking things from him that he never quite knew what they were, but suspected he could never give.

"Nathaniel," Bartimaeus says, thoughtfully, and there is only _terror_ for a moment, before Nathaniel checks that there is, in fact, no one around but the two of them. "I thought you'd been crushed already, see. But you're like a particularly stubborn weed - you'll notice that I'm not comparing you to a cockroach, even though that would've rather suit you not even a month ago. I can't say I understand this sudden attack of conscience."

Nathaniel grits his teeth and tries to remember, this is the djinni being _agreeable_.

"I- I had a thought-"

" _Shocking_. No, really-"

"-that some people- some people I used to know, they wouldn't approve of some things I've done. That's all."

"Connecting with your inner child, have you?" Bartimaeus says, grinning approvingly. "Good, your outer child - and by that I mean _you_ \- could really use the help. Keep it up, Natty boy, by all means! Go play in the park, buy a toy car, use some fingerpaint to your little heart's content."

And it's utterly stupid, and the djinni is just being his usual obnoxious self, but Nathaniel remembers-

"Yes," he hears himself say, past the fog of memories, "I will."

Bartimaeus stares at him like Nathaniel's just agreed to sell his grandmother to him after he jokingly offered a chocolate coin. Although that is, actually, a remarkably bad metaphor—if that scenario would ever come to pass, Bartimaeus would be utterly unsurprised and gleeful about the whole thing, of course—.

"Uh, sure thing, Nat," he says. And then, under his breath, but still very clearly, "Wizards. Barkin' mad, the lot of them."

"Yes, well," Nathaniel sighs. "Back to your release-"

"Oh, well, look at that!" Bartimaeus interrupts, cupping his left ear with a hand and half-turning towards the door. "I think I can hear the foliots making a mess of your kitchen tiles. You really can't leave them unsupervised, eh? They really are the whole package - a face not even a mother could love, and utterly useless, to top it off-"

He shifts into an eagle and disappears before Nathaniel can get a word in edgewise, still ranting, apparently very committed to his new role as an interior decorator.

Nathaniel stays, and he stares at the empty fireplace for a very long time.

 

 

 

Nathaniel is drawing when the idea comes.

He's drawing a lot these days, just like he used to as a child- not pentagrams, not runes, just the half-remembered lines of Mrs. Underwood's face and the trees behind his window.

He keeps all the drawings in a folder under his bed, and he knows Bartimaeus knows, and he knows Bartimaeus is making use of that knowledge to pry _constantly_ and without shame, and he could—probably—order him to stop, but he just- doesn't. It feels like too much effort. Bartimaeus already sees far deeper into Nathaniel than he's comfortable with either way, no matter how he tries to prevent it.

( Last week he drew Mr. Underwood's study, the thousands of demons—and he knows how much Bartimaeus hates the word, but Nathaniel is still incapable of calling _those_ anything else—squeezing inside the room, the shadow of a small boy at the door. He had to stop multiple times to breathe, because he found there was not nearly enough air in his lungs, and his eyes were blurry, and his hands shook so violently that half of his pencils went flying on two occasions.

Bartimaeus had been standing in the middle of the dining room and holding the drawing in the Egyptian kid's hands, unnaturally still, barely a few hours after Nathaniel had put it in the folder.

"Very unpleasant man, that Underwood," he'd said, eyebrows raised, before giving the drawing back to Nathaniel.

He has yet to speak a single word more on the matter. )

On this particular afternoon, he's drawing Bartimaeus in his favorite form—and if there's a reason for it, he most certainly does _not_ want to dig into himself to find it—. The details in the kid's clothing are the hardest to get right, apart from Bartimaeus' very particular gaze - Nathaniel doesn't have the kind of pencils, or experience, to be able to capture the gold details properly.

Bartimaeus approaches him in silence—he does that a lot, lately, and it's _extremely unnerving_ \- which is not why he started doing it, Nathaniel is certain, but it's possibly why he _keeps_ doing it so often—, draping one of the Egyptian kid's arms over Nathaniel's shoulder.

"Ptolemy," he says, with a note of approval in his voice. "Very good taste, for once, Natty."

"It's you, stupid djinni," Nathaniel replies, trying not to blush.

Bartimaeus laughs, a sound so rare that Nathaniel _stares_ at him, open-mouthed.

"It's Ptolemy's body, Natty boy. Good kid. You might've liked him, I guess, or at least this new-old version of you."

"Ptolemy?" Nathaniel repeats, a sudden memory arising. "Ptolemy as in-"

"Just so you know, I don't believe that John Mandrake is dead," Bartimaeus interrupts. A brief pause— _very_ brief, because the djinni gets horribly bored if he doesn't hear himself speak for more than ten seconds—, and then, "But I do believe that you're doing your very best at beating him to death. Which I approve of in principle, of course. You know me - I'm very pro-beating wizards to death."

Nathaniel decides that's the kind of comment that doesn't deserve an answer, so he turns back to his drawing.

He has barely picked up the pencil he intends to use next when he freezes, mind lighting up like it only ever does with his very best ideas—the absolutely brilliant ones, often the ones that end up saving his life one way or another—.

"The girl," he says. "Kitty Jones. She can't be dead."

Bartimaeus blinks at him.

"And how, O' Great One, have you reached that conclusion?"

"There was no pile of ashes," Nathaniel replies. It makes him feel horribly stupid, but it's the truth. The djinni's story had holes all over it, but Nathaniel had been too distracted to notice. "You would have reproached me to _no end_ \- I'd still be hearing about it. And the timing- it just doesn't make sense. The golem wouldn't have had time to- No, she can't be dead. The boy, _maybe_ , but not her."

"Well," Bartimaeus says, grinning, "a month after the fact is better than never, I suppose."

Nathaniel really should make it clear that his djinni is not supposed to lie to him, but- it's Bartimaeus. It really is not worth the effort.

"Can you find her? Ms. Jones?"

"And what are you going to do if I can?" Bartimaeus asks, head tilted. He doesn't seem overly concerned.

"Well-" Nathaniel can feel himself starting to grin, in a way that could only be described as _devious_. "I'm going to bring her here, of course."

It can't possibly be very reassuring, but whatever Bartimaeus sees in his eyes, it must tell him something he wants to hear, because he shrugs and replies,

"I'm Bartimaeus of Uruk, Nat. I can do _anything_."

 

 

 

Kitty Jones is smuggled into Nathaniel's home two weeks later, through one of the windows on the second floor, under the dark cover of the night.

But only because of Bartimaeus' unnecessarily dramatic nature, of course, because the fact is - Kitty Jones is dead.

That's, partly, what Nathaniel is counting on.

She huddles into her jacket and glares at Nathaniel across the dining room table, distrust written all over her face. Nathaniel smiles tentatively back at her, but all it does is make Ms. Jones squint at him like she's not quite sure of what he's playing at or how hard he's hit his head recently, but she wants to make it very clear that doesn't like it. Bartimaeus, meanwhile, hangs around for his own amusement and is unhelpful.

"I really don't get why I'm here," the girl says, scowling. "Not even why you made your demon get me- why I came at all. That, I'd like to know."

"If I'm remembering this correctly," Bartimaeus pipes in, cheerfully, "you said I was a pest and you would rather die than bear with me for one more second, and you also didn't believe N-Mandrake here to be as dumb as to think you'd just come running if he asked politely, so it couldn't possibly be a trap. Which, by the way- your bad. He really is _astonishly_ dumb."

" _Thank you_ , Bartimaeus," Nathaniel says, teeth gritted. "You can go now."

The djinni seems to consider this for a moment.

"Nah," he decides, and leans back against a wall to watch.

Nathaniel internally prays for patience, and strength, and a djinni with less initiative, because he's beginning to look back at all his invocation failures earlier this year with something resembling fond wistfulness, despite himself. He turns back to the girl, trying to force a smile back into his face.

"Ms. Jones- Can I call you Katherine?"

"No," she says. But she peers at him, scowling, and adds, "Kitty's fine, I guess."

Nathaniel's own name is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it back. Way too soon, if ever.

"You can call me John," he says, softly. "Kitty, I asked Bartimaeus to find you because- well, I thought you might be interested in staying here, with us." He winces. "Me. _Us_ ," he corrects once again, at Bartimaeus' glare.

Kitty is, in fact, looking at the _djinni_ like she's expecting to find some sanity there. She's going to be thoroughly disappointed.

"You do realize that my life is, like- _in danger_?" she asks, turning back to Nathaniel. "Even if you want to- I don't know, help me dismantle the Government or something, miracles happen- it's still not safe _at all_ for me to be here."

Nathaniel's smile must be truly a thing of wonder, because Kitty stares at his face in absolute shock and mild worry, like he has an imp crawling all over his face and tenderly smooching his nose.

"Oh, but Katherine- didn't you know that you are, actually, quite dead?"

 

 

 

Kathleen Jones walks into the Ministry for the first time in a sunny Tuesday morning.

Nathaniel doesn't run into any problems as he leads her into one of the chambers—Bartimaeus following in the form of a very smug panther—, but the moment they walk in, half of the ministers stand up, pale with shock and red with outrage—a rather interesting contrast that Bartimaeus comments on with excessive delight—, and the other half is already in their way to arrest all of them. Meanwhile, Nathaniel stays still and does his very best to look startled.

"What is the matter?" he says, feigning innocence as well as he knows how. That is to say, _extremely_ well. "Prime Minister?"

Ms. Whitwell is the one who speaks first, hands shaking with fury.

"What is the _matter_? You bought a prisoner to the chambers of the ministers! Without mentioning that you'd found her at _any_ point! She's not even bound, Mandrake! How can you possibly be as incompetent as to-"

"Why, Ms. Whitwell," Bartimaeus says, gleeful. "Are you feeling alright there? We're not carrying a prisoner - we've been too busy with house renovations for that kind of excitement."

Devereaux points at Kitty, scowling, like he doesn't quite know what to believe yet.

"And what is _that_ , demon?"

"That?" Nathaniel replies, blinking. "Do you refer to my new assistant, Prime Minister?"

All the wizards in the room are temporarily shocked into silence, a feat that Nathaniel knows will earn him endless praise—and mockery—by Bartimaeus the second they're back home.

"Hullo," Kitty says, waving.

"My apologies, ministers," Nathaniel says, calmly. "I'm afraid I forgot to mention I'd be getting an assistant at all. This is Kathleen Jones, the twin sister of- well, that one unfortunate casuality from the golem, a way back."

"Mandrake-" the Prime Minister sits back down, apparently still at a loss of words. "That's _Katherine_ Jones, and she has to be arrested and interrogated, and-"

"Prime Minister, with all my respects," Nathaniel replies, "Katherine Jones is dead. We all know this. Kathleen here-"

"Kitty, please," says Kitty, by now grinning.

"-Kitty, she's been in Prague for the last few years, being taken care of by an aunt. I assure you, at no point has she had anything to do with her sister or her crimes. For what she's said, they'd never met at all."

"Do you think we're all idiots, Mandrake?" Whitwell snaps—Bartimaeus, at Nathaniel's back, begins quietly snickering—. "Do you have any proof to present for this- this nonsense?"

Nathaniel gestures for Kitty to take a seat next to his usual chair, and then takes a sit himself. He tries his best to look disinterested, like the ravings of the ministers are none of his concern, not when there are more important things to do.

"If you ask Mr. and Mrs. Jones, Ms. Whitwell, you'll find that they're _well aware_ that they had twins. It's not something one forgets easily, I imagine." He takes some files out of his briefcase and hands them over to Kitty, who immediately starts examining them with—utterly fake—interest. "They, of course, also have all the related documentation. Birth certificates, some old photos- everything is in order. I believe the Ministry might have misplaced some of those in our own records, though - there are some truly incompetent people working here, I'm afraid - but rest assured, I've made sure to ask for copies to fix that grievous mistake."

The entire chamber of ministers stares at them in silence for a long moment.

"Uh- alright," Devereaux says. "Thank you, Mr. Mandrake. And- uh, my apologies, in the name of all of us, Ms. Jones."

"Prime Minister-" Whitwell hisses, eyes alight with suspicion.

"Well, isn't it wonderful that everything's been solved!" Bartimaeus says, shifting into Ptolemy—albeit a Ptolemy with _significantly_ more teeth than usual—to grin at her. "After all, no one could possibly be daft enough to concoct a story as ridiculous as what y'all noble wizards believed for a moment there, huh?"

The ministers seem to believe the djinni has a point—either that or they're too stupid to dare to risk their pride by pressing further—, and soon the room transitions into a regular day at the Ministry.

"Could you pass me a pen, Kitty?" Nathaniel asks, distracted by the very sensitive, very secret Government discussion that is happening in front of him—and which Kitty is clearly not missing a word of—.

"Here you go, N-Johnny boy," Bartimaeus replies instead, sugary-sweet.

Nathaniel rolls his eyes, but he takes the pen and settles in for what is shaping up to be a long argument.

" _Wizards_ ," Kitty mutters under her breath, enraptured.

"Ding, dong," says Bartimaeus' voice—the djinni has apparently shifted into a fly while Nathaniel was not looking, and is currently buzzing next to his ear—, "John Mandrake is dead."

Nathaniel smiles, small and private.

"And good riddance?" he suggests, quietly.

Bartimaeus laughs obnoxiously loud—even for a fly—, and turns into a white butterfly- because he'd rather die than be predictable, probably.

"Exactly, Nat," he humms into Nathaniel's ear, sounding fond enough that Nathaniel doesn't dare chide him. " _Exactly_."

 

 

 


End file.
